As if reading the Questor's mind, the General said, "I'd sooner be on open ground, but I don't think we've too much to worry about, Baron Grimm. After all, it's a town, not a war zone."
As if to mock Quelgrum's hubris, a knot of men, maybe fifteen strong, stepped out of one of the side alleys, blocking the way. Like the watchmen at the gate, they wore a patchwork of armour, and they all carried notched but serviceable weapons: swords, axes, and pikes among them.
"You boys doing a little shopping?" Quelgrum said, his voice sounding easy and untroubled. "Or are you just sightseeing?"
A grubby, grey-haired, scarred man, whom Grimm supposed must be the leader of this group of bravoes, stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of an ancient-looking cutlass in a simple leather scabbard.
"Shoppin', it looks like. Nice wagon you got here, friend; if'n you'll gift-wrap it for us, I fink we'll take it."
"Well, friend," the soldier said, "I really don't think you can afford it, so I think we'll just mark it down as 'No Sale', if it's all the same to you."
"I fink you c'n do a little better than that, old feller. What say you give us the cart, and mebbe a bit extra, and we give you your lives? Sounds like a good deal to me. Whatcher got in the back?"
"Trouble, friend." The General pulled a string that collapsed the wagon's canvas cover to reveal Crest, Harvel, Tordun, Guy and Numal. "Gentlemen, we've got company. Would you care to introduce yourselves?"
The three warriors and the two mages climbed out of the vehicle, and Grimm could swear that the raiding party's leader blanched at the sight of the mighty albino drawing himself to his full, impressive height, even though the heavy coat of grime on the man's face made it difficult to tell.
"The market's closed, boys," Quelgrum breathed, "so why don't you just make your way home, and we'll say no more about it?"
The Questor smiled at the expressions of doubt and dismay on the faces of several of the ruffians, and at the susurration of worried voices amongst them as they gaped at each other with wide eyes. However, it seemed that the scarred, older brigand was made of sterner stuff. Silencing his chattering underlings with a wave of the hand, he smiled.
"My, ain't you got a pretty collection o'friends. So 'ave I."
Putting two grimy fingers into his mouth, he emitted a piercing whistle, and Grimm spun around to see another group of men emerging from an alley behind them, weapons at the ready. It was as he had feared; they were trapped.
Quelgrum stepped down from the wagon, his eyes hooded, dangerous. As he approached the leader of the group, the scarred bravo drew his sword.
"That's far enough, mate; no need to be a bloody hero, is there? There's seven o'you and thirty of us. Even wiv the big white feller, it's still not very good odds, is it? Now, why don't you just hand over what you've got, and we'll call it quits, eh?"
"Over my dead body," the General said, through gritted teeth.
"Sounds a fair price to me, old-timer. GET 'EM, LADS!"
As the raiders surged forward, Grimm shouted, "Redeemer, to me!" and his staff flew to his hand as he flung himself down from the vehicle.
Crest ran forward and unleashed his deadly whip, lashing it into the attacking horde. Several men fell, dropping their weapons and clutching their eyes as the snake-like weapon did its work.
The young Questor realised that although the narrow street made escape impossible, it also worked against the attackers, since they could not attack en masse. He stepped forward, brandishing Redeemer and braining three men in one stroke. Another ruffian made the mistake of trying to grab the staff, and fell twitching to the ground. A true Mage Staff was much more than a status symbol; it was also a dangerous weapon.
Quelgrum's leathery, liver-spotted right fist shot forward, catching a bold raider on the jaw and felling him. The leader of the group struggled to bring his sword into play, hampered as he was by the crush of men around him, and the General's hand, fingers locked into the form of a blade, stabbed into the expanse of flesh under the ruffian's breastbone. The man collapsed, fighting for breath and dropping his weapon. With that, the brief battle was over, as the remainder of the able-bodied attackers dispersed and fled as best they could.
Grimm looked behind him to see a number of fallen ruffians. Harvel's sword dripped with blood, and Tordun waved his own red-stained broadsword, bellowing defiance at the few retreating raiders. Guy looked cool and calm, and Numal was pale-faced but uninjured, his mage staff raised over his head.
"Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?" Quelgrum said to Grimm in a cheerful voice. The General grasped the gasping, retching leader of the attackers by the neck and hauled him upright, so that the two men's faces met.
"This is your lucky day, scum," the old soldier breathed. "Tangling with us should have been the last mistake you ever made in your miserable life but, against my better judgement, I'll let you live. Perhaps I'm getting sentimental in my old age, but just be thankful for it. Just tell everyone you meet that nobody messes around with us. Take a good look," he said, taking the man's lower jaw in his hand and twisting it around, "and just remember that we didn't even break into a sweat here. You're honoured. I don't usually waste my time brawling with amateurs-I just kill them like the vermin they are. In your case, I'll make a rare exception, so you can advise your pathetic friends to forget trying to make a quick fortune. Now, is that understood, dung-heap?"
The hapless man struggled in vain against the soldier's iron grip. "I ain't afeared o-"
His head rocked as Quelgrum swept his right hand back in a vicious arc across the assailant's face, maintaining a firm hold on his jerkin with the other.
"Answer the question, vermin. I asked you if you understood what I said."
"Understood, Cap'n," muttered the ruffian, wiping a bloody drool from the corner of his mouth.
"That's 'General', rat, and don't forget it." The military man hauled the dangling wretch closer to him, until the two men's noses almost met. His eyes glittered with what Grimm took to be maniacal blood-lust held in check by an adamantine will-or, perhaps, that was just the impression the soldier sought to create.
"My name is Sleafel Quelgrum," the General hissed, "although some know me better as 'General Q'. You may have heard that name, but if you haven't, you'd better ask around. Your friends, if you have any real friends, which I doubt, may tell you that I eat my enemies after defeating them. However, that's not true; I'm picky about what I eat."
His upper lip curled, and his nose wrinkled in an expression of pure disgust as he tossed the raider to the flagstones.
"If you ever cross me or my companions again, I'll leave you in the gutter for your vermin brethren to eat, instead. Now make yourself scarce, ordure."
The General punctuated his last order with a boot to the unfortunate attacker's rear end as the man scrambled to his feet. With a last yelp, the thug staggered into a side alley.
All Grimm could hear was the soft moaning of a few maimed men. With some satisfaction, he saw the attacker who had foolishly tried to grab Redeemer sitting, quivering, by the side of the road, his eyes vacant. He felt pleased that he had managed to curb his instinct to expend his magical power in a profligate manner, and gratified that he had felled three raiders with a single, swift blow of his staff.
"That was just getting interesting," Tordun complained, cleaning his red-stained blade on a fallen man's jerkin. "It's a shame they had no staying power."
Grimm rolled his eyes. "So much for not starting any trouble, General."
"We didn't, Lord Baron; we just finished it. There was no diplomatic way out of that, believe me. Perhaps we'll get a little respect around here from now on."